


Ian Comes Alive!

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Swears. S-e-x. Slash.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-24
Updated: 2007-05-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm forces the issue.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Warnings: Swears. S-e-x. Slash.  
  
Notes: A sequel to "Fierce Blue Ascot" and to "Ian Westbury". I thought this would be a nice final entry to the series, capping off Masturbation Month with a bit of a bang.   


* * *

Trip pushed his fork into his chicken, letting the utensil stand by its tines for a moment while he pondered the state of his universe. The mess was crowded and, although he'd probably have done better sitting by himself so he could stew in private, due to lack of free tables he'd had to sit with Travis and Margarite, who were discussing, of all things, hockey. 

He looked up as Margarite laughed, pushing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. She only had eyes for Travis, and Travis' eyes were locked to her fingers as she trailed them through her hair. 

Trip hrumphed and pulled out his fork, using it to spear some green beans instead. The situation with Travis and Margarite was not helping. They'd been flirting for the whole meal. Travis, for one, was definitely sweet on the girl, because Trip knew the man had no interest at all in hockey. And Margarite liked Travis, because anytime a woman played with her hair while talking to you, she liked you. 

And speaking of "liking" - Trip watched Malcolm enter the room, glance around, then get waved across the room by Hoshi. Trip turned back to his food, unsure of if he was regretful or glad. He stabbed another bean with his fork. It was probably just as well, because if Malcolm had come over here, he wasn't sure how he'd have handled himself. 

Yesterday was the first day in a while that his time hadn't been spent frantically moving from repair to repair. The after-effects of their most recent mission had been keeping him busy, and yesterday's relative peace should have been great, but the return to a more normal pace had given him time to focus on what he'd done recently. The whole... Malcolm... thing. He waved his fork-with-bean around vaguely, earning a strange look from Margarite, who almost immediately returned her attention to Travis. 

Trip was conflicted. Of course, the fantasies had been unbelievably hot, and he didn't want to give that up. But at the same time, they were certainly going in a direction he had not expected. His fantasies in the past had always focused on women. He'd considered himself straight. Pretty much. Well... 

Trip mashed the bean with his fork. It wasn't that thinking about men wasn't a possibility; it just wasn't anything he'd actively considered. Not since college, anyway, and Eric Steinberg, but that hadn't been fantasy, and that hadn't been a relationship. Not really. Trip frowned. He and Eric had been playing around. Nothing major, just occasional hand jobs while watching porn, stuff like that. They'd both dated women. Their thing was not even a thing, more like a... a whatever. A convenience. An amusement. And once they'd graduated, they'd drifted apart, and Trip had focused his attention on the females of the species. 

And now here he was, in his thirties, and he'd gone and got himself all screwed up. Sure, he was fantasizing about a guy - that wasn't the problem. He was actually good with that. It was fun. It was just a stupid fantasy. Just a totally hot, stupid fantasy. Normally, it wouldn't matter. He could fantasize about some hot woman, or even about getting drilled by some random guy, and it:

Would. 

He smashed the bean. 

Not. 

He pulverized it. 

Matter. 

But now his fantasies were affecting his reality, and that was the real problem.

Trip plunged his fork into another bean. This was why he tried not to fantasize about people he knew in real life. But it was that poster, that image of Malcolm as Ian Westbury - a fictional character, in a way - that had created the illusion of separation, and allowed him to play around with the idea. But then his next fantasy had been one-hundred-percent Malcolm in all his glory, in uniform, as he was in real life, more or less, and that was too much, way too close to reality. Trip pushed his plate away, then pulled it back again, frustrated. He was too old for this shit. 

It had gotten so bad that lately he'd actually been avoiding Malcolm. When they did bump into each other, the meetings had been rushed, and there had been no time, and no desire on Trip's part, to bring up the posters or what Malcolm had possibly heard in Trip's room, when he'd been showering and thinking of... Trip winced and shook his head. Damn the man to hell and back, Malcolm gave him no hint at all to what he knew, if anything. He had been wearing that "Lieutenant Reed" face every time Trip saw him. 

Now that Trip finally had time to think about something other than emergency repairs, he kept getting flashbacks of Malcolm on the bed, in the dark, touching himself while he spied on him from the bathroom. His fantasies had run rampant from that point, all focusing on the man himself. Then, just a couple days ago, Malcolm had actually been in his room while he'd been jerking off, unknowing, in the shower - it was almost more than he could stand. He felt his cock twitch. He liked it, in a way. He found it exciting. The very fact that he was in the same room, right now, with Malcolm, it was like there was electricity between them, like he was hypersensitive, aware of the man without looking at him, even from across the mess. Trip lifted his eyes and saw Malcolm gathering up plates and getting ready to leave. Malcolm smiled at something Hoshi said, and then looked up and locked gazes with Trip.

Trip forced his eyes away, turning so Malcolm couldn't see the heat on his cheeks. It was those stupid posters that had started all this. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He played with his food, swirling the utensil through his mashed potatoes. Jesus fucking Christ. He felt like a teenager with a high school crush. This was getting really ridiculous. 

After a moment, he felt rather than heard someone beside him, and he looked up right into Malcolm's eyes; his stormy, blue-grey eyes. "Gagh... Hi," Trip stuttered, heart in his throat. Then he cringed. Unbelievable. He was such a dork. 

He only exhaled when Malcolm looked away. 

"Travis, Margarite," Malcolm said, nodding his head to them. He returned his attention to Trip. "Commander," he said in greeting.

"Trip," Trip replied automatically. He heard Margarite and Travis start talking about hockey again, or maybe it was basketball now. He lost track of what they were saying. Malcolm's eyes were exactly the same as they'd been on the poster. Sure, there were a few wrinkles around the edges, but there was the same almost-smirk.

"Trip," Malcolm said, his voice hushed. "I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Something wrong?" Trip answered, finally getting his tongue connected to his brain. 

"No, no." Malcolm gave a slight smile, which brightened his eyes. "Nothing bad. Are you free at, say..." he glanced at the wall clock, "...nineteen hundred?"

"Yeah. Sure," Trip said quickly. "Meet you here?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Better if we meet in my quarters. I'll be coming right off shift, so I could be a few minutes late." With a sly smile, he gave a glance toward Trip's tablemates, but they were still involved in their conversation. Malcolm dropped his voice further. "You can let yourself in, yes?"

At this, Trip did blush, and nodded. He couldn't say anything. What could he possibly say? 

Malcolm nodded crisply in response, then turned on his heel and left. 

Trip let his head fall into his hands. Nineteen hundred hours. There were a million hours before that. He'd ever make it. 

He heard Travis' voice from across the table. "You okay?"

He waved his hand dismissively. Composing himself, he lifted his head to find the eyes of both tablemates on him, expressions concerned. "Yeah. Sorry. Headache. I'll just -" His chair screeched as he stood. Nodding to Margarite, he left without another word. It wasn't until halfway down the corridor that he realised he'd left his dishes where they sat. He shrugged and kept moving toward engineering. 

What was it that Malcolm wanted to discuss? The whole poster-Ian Westbury-Fierce Blue Ascot thing? It was kind of late for that, now; well over a week and a half had passed since then. Trip took a sharp breath in. Maybe the shoe was about to drop, and Malcolm was going to confront him about being in bathroom while he... No. If Malcolm even knew, if he had been angry or upset about that, it would have shown. The man had looked sly, not angry. If he even knew, he obviously didn't mind. 

Trip stopped in his tracks. That was an interesting thought. 

Trip spent the rest of the day working on maintenance projects, his mind continually going back to Malcolm, what he'd said in the mess, what he might be planning to discuss later on. Taking off an hour before his meeting with Malcolm, he went back to his room and showered, then changed into something nice - casual, verging on a bit dressy, but not too studied. Standing before his mirror, he considered what he was wearing: black pants and a blue shirt, the one his mother told him set off his eyes. Actually, he wasn't sure about the shirt. His sister, Lizzie, had given him a dark green one that he liked. Maybe he should switch? He ran a hand through his hair in frustration when he realised he was primping as if for a date. And this was so not a date. He rolled his eyes at his reflection, then stuck out his tongue. Annoyed with himself, he headed out. 

As he approached Malcolm's room, he glanced at his watch and saw that he'd be early. Since Malcolm had said he probably wouldn't even be there yet, Trip decided to use the extra time to take a quick walk around the deck and burn off some of his nerves. After all, this was just a meeting with a crewmate. A friend. A friend he'd been fantasizing about. A friend he'd been imagining taking him hard against the desk and fucking the living... Oh, Christ, he thought, pausing in the hallway. He ran a hand across his eyes, and stretched his neck, trying to work off the tension. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and headed for Malcolm's quarters. 

He stood outside the door, hand poised above the keypad. This was it. If he survived this evening, he'd be surprised. Either Malcolm was going to kill him dead, or his own nerves would. He opened the door and stepped inside. 

He caught Malcolm just coming out of the shower, dark hair wet, one small drip running down his pale chest, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His build was slight but strong, and a dark "V" of muscle and dark hair lead down to his... Trip snapped his eyes up quickly, standing there like an idiot as the door slid shut behind him. 

Malcolm smiled slightly. He stepped forward, closing the space between them, and without further ado, kissed Trip smack on the lips. 

Trip stood there in shock for a moment before he remembered that he was probably expected to respond, and Malcolm had obviously assumed that he'd respond positively. And he was willing to... Oh, shit. Tentative, nervous, he raised a hand and placed it on Malcolm's waist, just above the towel. His skin was still slightly damp from the shower. 

In Trip's fantasies, they'd never actually kissed. It was as if the fucking, that he could imagine, but the kiss? His eyes fluttered closed and he touched his tongue to Malcolm's lower lip. The man opened his lips in response, his own tongue just touching Trip's, and Trip felt it in his stomach, down to his toes, in his fingers, in his damn ears. And in his cock, oh yes, there, too. 

The kiss was soft, their first. His first. He'd never kissed a man before, not even Eric. It was different from kissing a woman. The same, but... different. The faint scratch of stubble, the scent of shave cream and soap, the sinewy muscle and sharp bone under his hand, so different from the soft curves of a woman. Nice. 

He felt Malcolm's hand touch his back, then movement as Malcolm slid it just under his shirt, touching the skin at his lower back, leaving a trail of heat. 

Malcolm broke off and stepped back. "You're early." He was slow to let his fingers leave Trip's back, actually trailing them around to his side first. He seemed amused. 

"I am?" Trip said, feeling shell-shocked. He watched as Malcolm turned and walked away, toward the bathroom. 

Malcolm grabbed a small stack of clothing as he passed the bureau. "Give me a moment, and I'll be ready," he said back over his shoulder. 

Ready for what? Trip thought, as Malcolm closed the door behind him. Trip sank down onto Malcolm's desk chair, the bed seeming far too intimate. He looked around the room, trying to get a sense of the man. He'd known Malcolm for a while, but rarely spent any measurable time in his quarters. There wasn't a lot of ornamentation. No personal photos. No sign of the Fierce Blue Ascot posters. Trip saw himself in the mirror, sandy hair in slight disarray, flush high on his cheeks, blue eyes bright. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it.

Malcolm came out dressed in soft black pants and a dark, formfitting shirt, wet hair brushed but sticking up a bit in back. He padded, barefoot, across the carpet and headed for the dresser, taking out socks. 

"We going somewhere?" Trip asked. 

Malcolm sat on the bed to put on his socks. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Trip from under his lashes. "Yes." He slid his feet into shoes. 

Uncomfortable, Trip picked at his nails, then stopped himself. "You said you had something to discuss."

Malcolm stood and held out a hand. "When we get there."

Trip stared at the hand. Oh, why not? He took Malcolm's hand and stood. Malcolm gave his fingers a soft squeeze, and then dropped them. 

They moved down the corridor without a word. Trip was overly aware of the man beside him, and he actually had to remind himself to breathe. 

They finally reached the door of the smallest observation lounge. There was a handwritten sign posted on it, "Closed for private function." Malcolm keyed a code into the door lock, and as the door slid open, he waved Trip in.

Trip stood just inside the door, and as it shut behind him, Malcolm moved past him to the observation window, picking up something from a small table just past the couch. The room was fairly dark, so Trip couldn't quite see what Malcolm was doing. There was music playing quietly, soft lights spilling pools of warmth onto the walls. In all, the room seemed cosier than it did normally, much more intimate. It must have taken Malcolm a bit of time to set up - he'd had to get the lights, the music player, the table... Trip frowned. Bullshit the man just came off shift. Or, if he had, he'd taken the time to set all this up earlier. Trip leaned back against the door, as if for support. If Malcolm had done that, he'd known that he would see Trip at lunch, and he'd known that Trip would agree to meet him. Jesus. Bet he'd had this all planned out.

His eyes went to Malcolm when he heard the tinkling of ice falling into glasses. Moving to his side, he saw Malcolm pouring Maker's Mark, a whiskey, into glasses. 

"Oh, that's my favourite," Trip said.

Malcolm gave him a half smile. "I know."

"How do you -?" He cut himself off. Probably when Malcolm had been in his room, signing the poster, he'd seen the bottle on his shelf. Okay, that was a good enough segue. Trip braced himself. "Listen, Malcolm, I..." His eyes skittered past Malcolm to the darkness beyond the window. Malcolm held out a glass, and Trip took it, looking from the drink to him again. "I didn't mean to..."

Malcolm took a sip of the drink, then stepped close and kissed him. Trip could taste the whiskey on his lips, cool and mellow. "You did mean to," Malcolm said. He was standing close enough that Trip felt like he was falling into his eyes. He could smell the whiskey, like spice on his breath. 

About to make excuses, Trip said, "I -" But Malcolm was right. He may not have meant to, not at first, but he did mean to, now. God knows, he did.

The corner of Malcolm's lip quirked upwards, and he dipped a finger into his drink and trailed it across Trip's lower lip. Trip licked it away, and Malcolm leaned in for another kiss. This one was nowhere near as soft as the first two, and Trip gave in to it. All that pent up passion, built of the stressful mission, and the fantasies, and the images from the posters, and the electricity of the moment, he funnelled into his response. He slid a hand under the man's shirt, pulling him close, and he felt Malcolm's hand against his stomach, against his skin. 

The rest was all soft touches and caresses, tongues and lips against hot hot skin. The reality was better than the fantasy, the unexpected adding an edge to Trip's excitement, not knowing what Malcolm would do, not knowing how Malcolm would respond to this touch here, that there. He let his hand fall down Malcolm's back, tracing the swoop of his spine to the waistband of his pants, trailing a finger just inside the waistband, along Malcolm's back. His fantasies had all been about what he'd have Malcolm do to him, or how Malcolm would take him, not what he'd do to Malcolm, and that's all he could think of now. He wanted this. He wanted this man.

Moving his hand to Malcolm's chest, he let his fingers grace over nipples, down over the stomach, keeping the other hand with his glass tucked behind his back. His hand flowed down across soft skin until it touched fabric, then lower, grasping Malcolm's hardness through the fabric of his pants. Malcolm gasped, and Trip paused there a moment, his own breath caught in his throat. Malcolm exhaled, warm breath rushing past Trip's cheek, and Trip bit Malcolm's lower lip just slightly, just enough to hurt, not hard enough to draw blood. Moving his hand again, he unzipped Malcolm's pants and slid his hand inside. Malcolm gasped again when Trip touched his skin. He stopped breathing entirely when Trip's fingers encircled his cock. Trip pulled away from the kiss, and Malcolm's eyes opened, then fluttered shut when Trip started stroking. Malcolm's eyes came open again, glazed, and he reached for him, but Trip shook his head, "I want to..." He left the rest unsaid as he released Malcolm. Taking a tiny sip of the drink, he held it there as he knelt down before Malcolm and took him in his mouth. Malcolm placed a hand on Trip's head. Then Trip swallowed the drink, and Malcolm drew in a ragged breath, hand clenching at Trip's hair. 

Trip felt his own dick press against the fabric of his pants, excitement mounting. He pulled away and, reaching to the floor, put down his glass. He opened Malcolm's pants further, pulling them down slightly and releasing the scent of the man, deep and musky and freshly washed. It was the first time he'd ever done this, but he figured he'd try what he knew he liked himself. He twirled his tongue around the head of Malcolm's cock, then slid his tongue up its side firmly, but not too. He kept one hand at Malcolm's ass, anchoring them both, while he slid the fingers of the other around Malcolm's balls, then grasped the base of his cock while he worked it with his mouth. Malcolm's hand stilled in his hair, fingers tangled in it. Trip tasted salt on his tongue. Malcolm trembled in a way that let Trip know that he needed to stop now, or go on. He stilled his movements. He stood, hand still on Malcolm. He lifted an eyebrow and gave Malcolm a wicked grin. 

Malcolm looked mussed, definitely hot and bothered. His skin was damp, face flushed, color high on his cheeks. His breath was coming fast. He was still dressed, although his pants were unzipped and yanked down just to his hips, and Trip's fingers were wrapped around his exposed cock. He still had his drink in one hand. 

Trip smiled. He decided he very much liked making Malcolm look like that. Debauched. Slightly flustered. Extremely sexy. He didn't have time to think of anything else before Malcolm kissed him. 

Letting Malcolm go, he placed his hands around Malcolm's back, pulling him closer. He could feel Malcolm's hardness against his leg, pressing up against his own dick. Malcolm's hand undid his fly and he thrust it in, scrabbling, almost shaking, almost desperate. Trip froze when Malcolm reached his target, heart pounding madly, breath caught. Malcolm didn't move for a moment, simply kept his fingers wrapped around Trip with steady pressure. When he finally started stroking, Trip almost lost it then and there. He pushed Malcolm away with a breathless, "No. No." At Malcolm's look of confusion, he said, "I -" and stepped forward again, taking the glass from Malcolm's hand and placing it beside his own on the floor. He tugged Malcolm's shirt over his head, earning a smile. 

Malcolm unbuttoned Trip's shirt and pulled it away, letting it fall to the floor. Looking at Trip with eyes holding a definite hint of sin, he traced a gentle finger down the fringe of Trip's chest hair, down his stomach to his fly, undoing it. He pulled down Trip's pants and Trip stepped out of them, leaving his shoes on the floor with them, leaving him naked. 

Malcolm looked him over, his stance nearly at parade rest, chest bare, pants at his hipbones, cock forcing its way out just above the fabric. Trip stood there, his body on display, accepting the stares, getting off on them. He felt exposed and vulnerable, standing before Malcolm, who was still mostly dressed. He liked the feeling. He trembled, thinking of how Malcolm had fucked him in his fantasy, how Malcolm had simply slipped his dick out of his uniform and, revealing Trip's cock and ass, had taken him against the desk. How he'd been so exposed, and let himself be taken. 

Malcolm reached out a hand and pulled him in close, and Trip felt Malcolm's pants against his dick, their soft fabric catching against the wetness at its tip. Malcolm's hand was on Trip's cock again, and Trip reached his own hand between Malcolm's legs. They rubbed, keeping time with each other, supporting each other as they stood, Trip feeling the soft puffs of Malcolm's breath against his neck, his own exhalations coming faster as the sensations got stronger. He almost cried out when Malcolm dropped to his knees and took him in his mouth, mouth scorching, tongue moving, hands going to Trip's ass, pulling him closer, taking him deeper. Trip's eyes moved from the top of Malcolm's head to the observation window. They were doing this in a public lounge. The door was locked. Malcolm had put a sign on the door. But still, if someone really needed to, they could walk right in here and see, they could see... He looked down and watched his cock slide between Malcolm's lips, and his breath quickened as he threaded his fingers through Malcolm's hair. They could see this. They could see Malcolm going down on him, sucking him off. They could see him, buried in Malcolm. He almost wished they would. He looked up at the window again, catching his own reflection, and he smiled. 

Malcolm trailed a finger around and into his own mouth, inserting it next to Trip's dick, wetting it, moving it back and pushing it gently against Trip's hole. Trip's eyes flew closed as he tensed, but he remembered Malcolm entering him in his fantasy, the feel of his cock as it pushed into him, piercing him, hurting, burning, but stretching him, filling him, the pain mixing with the pleasure as Malcolm fucked him, and he exhaled, consciously relaxing. His legs shook. Malcolm's finger slid into him, just a bit, and God, he could feel it, he could, a slight burn as it entered, a feeling of pressure and fullness as it, as he, as Malcolm moved, sliding in slightly and... 

Trip held his breath, being taken, and he, he, he... he froze, then exhaled in a rush, and Malcolm slid the finger in further, deeper, mouth on his cock mirroring the movement in his ass, hot breath against his stomach. Then more, more pressure, more sensation as there was a second finger placed just outside his hole, and he gasped. He could feel it there, and damn, please, he wanted it inside him, he wanted, he, wanted, and... 

...and his body jerked, and it was all Trip could do not to push in, push himself down that throat, fuck that mouth, Malcolm's lips wrapped around him as he exploded outwards and Malcolm swallowed, God, swallowed him down and he couldn't stop. Groaning, gasping as he pushed himself back onto the finger in his ass, trembling as he fucked himself with it, deeper, more, and a thrust forward as he pulsed, hitting the back of Malcolm's throat, filling him, being filled. His knees crumbled and he fell, Malcolm's mouth coming off him, swiftly replaced by his hand. 

Trip crushed his lips to Malcolm's mouth, tasting himself there as Malcolm slowly, agonizingly slid his finger out and it burned it hurt he liked it. Panting, he pressed their sweat-slicked bodies together, pushing his leg between Malcolm's. He slid his hand between them, grasping his own cock over Malcolm's hand, feeling the slickness, then sliding a hand onto Malcolm's dick, the other on his ass. He held Malcolm there, close, as he rubbed the wet onto Malcolm's cock. Malcolm was shaking, his breath coming fast, ghosting over Trip's skin where Malcolm's head rested against his neck. Trip slid his free hand to Malcolm's hip, digging in his nails slightly, adding a bit of pain to the equation, and Malcolm came with a wild cry, opening his mouth and biting into Trip's neck. 

As Malcolm slumped against him Trip gentled his hand, then let go. He let the man rest there for a moment, but when he stirred, he grabbed Malcolm's hand with his own wet one and stood slowly, helping Malcolm up and leading him to the couch. He pushed Malcolm back into it and sat across him, straddling his lap, letting his eyes fall shut again. He pressed himself into Malcolm's lap, enjoying the feel of the fabric beneath him, the slight burn in his ass where Malcolm's finger had penetrated him. A reminder; later tonight, tomorrow, he'd still feel Malcolm's finger in his ass, still be marked, and know he'd been taken. They kissed, and then Trip let his head sink onto Malcolm's shoulder. He felt... good. Really good. Really fucking good. Eventually, forever later, he rolled off and stood. Grabbing his pants, he jerked them on and collapsed onto the couch, his shoulder touching Malcolm's. 

"When did you realise I ...?" Trip let the rest trail away, at a loss for words. What could he say? That he liked him? Wanted to fuck him? Wanted him to f -?

"The posters," Malcolm interrupted his thoughts, still a bit breathless. 

Trip's brow creased. He'd put up the posters before he'd even thought of Malcolm like that. Or... no. He'd felt a bit of something while making them, but he'd sort of buried it. "Seems you knew before I did," Trip said. "How?

"No one else pays me as much attention."

"Oh." That was all he could say. Then he cocked his head, turning to face Malcolm. "Can we do this again?"

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. 

"Not right now," Trip added quickly. "Later. Tomorrow?" He felt like breaking into a rendition of "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?"

Then Malcolm smiled, full on, and the light in his eyes lit up Trip himself, who responded with a smile of his own. 

Later that night, Trip stumbled back to his quarters. They'd spent the rest of the evening talking and drinking, but he had to be up early next day, and it was getting late. Fumbling with the keypad at his door, he started humming a melody. He finally got the stupid thing open and he stepped inside, flicking the lights on. As soon as the door closed behind him, he started singing, "What are you doing the rest of your life? North and south and east and west of your life?" He hummed the rest as he plunked down on his bed, not knowing the words well enough to sing them. Pushing his shoes off, he lay back and stared up at the ceiling. Then he chuckled. There, on the ceiling above his bed, was that Ian Westbury poster he liked, the one Malcolm had signed, the one from under his bed. He had no idea when Malcolm had found the time to... Oh, right. Maybe when he'd been walking around the decks, before their date. That's probably why Malcolm had only just been coming out of the shower when he'd arrived. Sneaky bastard. 

He wondered why Malcolm had placed the poster there? A ceiling was far from a normal spot for such a thing. But it was a great picture, the kohl making Malcolm's eyes stand out starkly against his pale skin, lips shining and slightly open, as if ready for someone to... Trip grinned wickedly, realizing exactly why Malcolm had put the poster just there. He placed a firm hand on his cock. 

He was going to like this. He was going to like this quite a bit. 

x-x

The title of this story is based on "Frampton Comes Alive", a major live album that made the career of Peter Frampton. 

The song Trip hums is not from that album. It's "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life," a song from a film. It's a bit melancholy and wistful, and certainly romantic. If you go to YouTube, you can see Shirley Bassey's cover of the song. Here's a link to the lyrics: http://www.rosemaryclooney.com/LyricPages/whatdoing.html

This sequel was, in part, prompted by something SitaZ said in a review of one of the earlier stories in the series. She'd mentioned how Trip was one of the few people who paid that much attention to Malcolm. And thus a story is born.


End file.
